Revel
by Demonic Angel Clone
Summary: Swiftly, he wraps an arm around her waist and bends his knee to dip her, using the hand she extended to him to anchor her around his neck. He kisses her, and she doesn't feel the ground beneath her, soaring under his touch. NSFW Symmetra/Junkrat
1. Chapter 1

He reminded her of everything dirty and disorderly in the world.

The acrid stench of gunfire filling her mouth, her lungs and sweat dripping down the sinewy contours of his back, overwhelmed by the sensation to violently push him away and pull him closer at the same time. Her insides feel like liquid dripping from the gutters of the slums she grew up in.

Young Satya Vaswani stands transfixed by the small peephole in her room, the only source of daylight hitting her smudged face, pressed against the glass, counting each drop that descends from its perch. The manipulation of the droplet as it refracts the rays of light sparkle tauntingly at her, an island of beauty in a sea of mud and shit and poverty. She smiles when a ray of enriching sunlight crosses paths with the stream of water just right, the perfect balance of nature and design melding to create something pleasing to the eye.

The older version can bend her own reality, can bend herself against the workshop bench, can bend her lips to accommodate his, melding and clashing and melding and clashing, teeth biting down and tongue sweeping across. Heaving shoulders and soft caresses – a fire building in the pit of her chest – and her hair comes loose from its neat and tight bun from atop the crown of her head.

He fiddles with the front of her official Vishkar blazer, unzipping and unsheathing a corner of her sun-kissed shoulder and bicep because he won't let her leave to go back, can't fathom a world of order, can't fathom a world without her in it, won't accept that this is who she is and that isn't going to change, the same way she failed to show him the way.

Or perhaps not a failure, just something else that she had to accept she couldn't change.

He pulls away and she's under him breathless and squirming, staring at the molten amber that are his irises, fiery with anger. "You know you ain' leavin', yeah?"

With eyes brimming with moisture that she can't tell is from the gunpowder or the situation. "I have to," she murmurs, lips weak and numbed from pressure. "If there's a possibility, however small, of Vishkar being dismantled, it has to be myself to do it." She reaches out to him, aware of the soot wearing on the cuff of her blazer and he turns his face away when her hand finally reaches his face. "Jamison, please."

"What'cha wan' me ta say? I mean, I'm not the one to mince words, Satya." He presses himself closer, impossibly so, and even clothed she can feel him between her thighs. She clenches her eyes shut and attempts to take a calming breath, arching her back against the worktable she was haphazardly set upon. "You want ta go back an' take 'em out and if they fin' out that that's what yer doin'-"

"They'll kill me," she nods, eyes closed more passively now. "I'm aware. But you doubt my ability to do this."

It's not a question hanging precariously between them, it's a statement.

"Look at me."

She heaves out another sigh, anchors her hand to his shoulder blade, and slowly opens her eyes.

"I don't doubt you in anything," he starts, repositioning himself so that her head is cradled in his prosthetic hand. "An' I don't want ta be the one to stop ya. But if yer doing this because you're trying to prove something to someone-"

 _Lucío_ goes unsaid. "I don't have to prove anything." Satya says, more firm about this than anything else. "I'm doing this for myself because it's what is right, because I have a greater purpose in this life and this is what I was meant to do."

Jamison heaves a sigh from above her, the wide expanse of his chest growing larger and constricting, and then he slowly, tortuously, slips his other hand down the front of her slacks, curling two of his fingers in her warm liquid sex and retracting, feeling every ridge and callous of his digits against her slick walls. She leans her head back further into his hand, mouth contorting open beyond her control and she wants to think that he was just being really considerate in letting her head rest against his hand, but this was probably his plan all along. Sanjay never made her feel this way, never made her feel the need to bite her lower lip, jolts of electricity from below with every thrust, reaching into parts deep within herself that she never knew existed. She groans and it's embarrassing and it's high pitched and unappealing to the ear, but he covers her mouth with his and how could someone this frustrating make her feel so _good_?

Heart thumping against her ribcage and she sees flashes of light from under her eyelids, fingernails pinching into his skin, and a scream bubbling from her lips, well contained within his own. He keeps pumping his fingers within her long after she has drifted down from her high.

She peers up at him from beneath her lashes and views him slips two fingers in his mouth in contemplation, as if it were the most normal function to do in the world, as if they didn't know where they just were. Finally, with a _pop_ , the fingers slip out, shiny with saliva in the last hues of daylight, and she blinks, looking between his face and his fingers.

"Seems to me you made yer mind up already, love," he says, unaffected. "Reckon I'll have to be okay with tha'."

"What-" she starts, but it sounds weaker than intended so she clears her throat and tries again, "What are you going to do?"

He rolls his shoulder, "S'not up ta me. This is yer mission. An' you havta do it."

"And I have to do it," she agrees.

"I don't gotta like it," he mentions off-handedly, and her lips curve upward.

Her uniform, she'd imagine, is probably covered in soot, from which she'd have to take the time to wash it and redress, which means that leaving this evening isn't a possibility now. "You don't want me to go."

"What can I say?" The blond shrugs, staring down at her with intense golden eyes. "I got used to yer pretty little mug around here. Who else can I look at? Roadie?"

"There are beautiful women here," Satya points out practically.

"Don't know what you mean."

"Amelíe?"

"That Widowmaker broad? She killed 'er husband!"

"Angela?"

"Valkyrie seems a little…flighty, to me."

"Fareeha?"

He pauses, nodding his head in approval. "I do like a good woman with missiles." She smacks his arm admonishingly, and he laughs aloud with mirth, mischief shining in his eyes. "I ain't lookin' at nobody else. I ain't wan' ta look at nobody else. An' you can't make me, so there," he sticks his tongue out at her for good measure, and she giggles. She slows, and comes to a stop, when he gets alarmingly close to her face, pressing his pointy nose against her curved one. "Do you want ta look at som'one else?" He asks, uncharacteristically quiet.

"No," she says with a shake of her head before she even has to think of the answer.

"Plenty of nice lookin' blokes," he says with one wide eye. "They got both legs an' both hands an' keep yer clothes nice an' clean."

"That's not what I want," she says and it's hollow because yes, that's what she wanted before but that doesn't mean that's what she wants _now_.

Jamison leans back, less than convinced. He uncups his hand from the back of her head. She misses the warmth, and wants him closer again. Reaches out for him.

But he's already walked away, standing hunched in the middle of the room.

She leans up, and pulls up her slacks, zipping them up, trying to ignore the smudges on various areas of her ivory uniform and tries to take a step. Fails because her knees feel like jelly and nearly stumbles forward.

She hears a clatter on the ground and he's there in an instant, holding her upward.

With her eyes she's begging him to believe her, but her face doesn't change, the façade doesn't crack.

He rubs his hand through the nest of his hair, wild yellow and black tendrils becoming more and more unruly. "S'alright Satya. She'll be alright."

"It isn't," she says with a shake of her head. She knows the sting of rejection, the pressure of judgement, and she won't subject him to that. "And I'm sorry."

He brightens suddenly, crooked smile marring his features. "Nothin' to turn your knickers in a twist, love. Can't do nothin' about things tha's already done, right?" He cards his hand though her dark ebony tresses and she leans into the touch. "Think I should let you alone ta do what needs to get done, eh?"

"No," she says, shaking her head, looking at him under her lashes. "I don't want to be alone right now."

"Then you won't be." The junker smirks roguishly and she kisses his cheek.

She still doesn't expect it when he lifts her up and stands up at full height as a small yelp escapes her mouth. "Junkrat," she says in surprise, and he looks at her for a long moment, one eyebrow arched wildly.

"What'd I tell you 'bout calling me tha'?"

"A momentary lapse, Jamison," she corrects with a smirk before he ambles onward. "Where are we going?"

"Yer room."

"Now?"

"No time like the present," he singsongs with glee, skipping up the stairs two-by-two.

" _Jamie_!"

The door parts open right before they step in the room and he bounds up to the bed, and when she thinks he'll just throw her onto it, he sets her down, hair fanning out beneath her on the pillow. She's smiling and if she weren't so happy in that moment, she'd be disgusted with herself.

She has to prepare, to focus on the task at hand, but instead she's helping him remove his peg, and memorizing every freckle on the bridge of his nose in her mind's eye.

Younger Satya Vaswani pulls her arms through her official Vishkar uniform for the first time. She's impressed by the pressed cotton of the fabric, the versatility of the design, and the symbolism of hope that it means for the world. She looks at herself in the mirror and she'd never particularly been self-absorbed in her looks because she didn't have the means to be. With trepidation, she pulls her hair up and back, looping through her hair in its tie in one wave, sweeping it into an elegant, yet simple bun. From her nightstand, she gathers her visor and sets it on her face.

The older version feels the fabric hastily pulled from her skin, tossed on the ground.

She crawls backward until she's over the pillow and expertly Jamison navigates her every dip and curve down her body, every breath against her skin bringing her closer to absolution, spreading her legs apart and feeling herself clench around him as her sex spasms in tandem against his tongue. She buries her orange polished nails into the black and blond spikes atop his head and arches her neck in ecstasy.

He reminds her of everything dirty and disorderly in the world.

And she _revels_ in it.

* * *

DAC


	2. Chapter 2

She reminded him of the Omnium's fusion core.

Cold, deadly, and ready to irradiate anything in her way should you cross her, leaving a path of pain and destruction in her wake.

She looks up at him with dark eyes, hard and sharp as a laser sight with lashes sweeping over her cheeks, and he chuckles to himself.

"What, on Earth, are you laughing about?" The raven haired beauty speaks, lips set in a fine line.

"You. You're a joke, darling."

"Excuse me?"

And as she steps closer, he laughs louder, to the point of a guffaw, slapping his good knee in glee. She stands in front of him, arms crossed under perfect breasts and he looks up at her. "Yea'? Can I help you?"

"What do you _mean_ , I'm a joke?"

He settles for a shit eating grin as he surveys her. "Yea'. Look at you and all them fancy devices you construct outta nothin'. You could end everyone 'ere, and we wouldn't even know. I mean, how do we even know you're not still workin' with that big corporation of yours, tryna take us all out?" The slap she serves to his face nearly knocks him off balance; his peg leg skids on the floor. He takes his hand, and snaps his jaw into place on his face with a satisfying _crack_. "Hehe, that'll wake a man up." He stands up, full height, and notices her strain her neck to glare at him before taking a swift step back.

"How dare you? You think I'm some sort of _filthy_ mercenary," she says with an upturned nose, disgust dripping from every word.

He twists his head, gets alarmingly close in her space, his nose nearly touching hers. "Seems ta me from the way you lookin' that you think tha' of me." Her eyes shift from one corner of her face to another, puckered out lips, and then he laughs. "The only difference 'tween you and me is that I wear my dirt proud. I ain't a _suit_ like some people."

"That's not the only difference, I assure you," she states with condescension, turning her face away from his.

Jamison looks her up and down, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Yea', we got some different bits alright, some I'd say look right better on you than they'd look on me."

"You're _incorrigible_." She says, disdain staining the words.

"I'm just bein' honest, love." He chuckles to himself again.

She frowns. "I've heard of you, Trashmouse."

"Junkrat."

"Inconsequential," she continues undeterred. "You're a wanted man and a mercenary, and if we have to be on the same team then so be it, but I will _not_ have you accuse myself of anything less than supporting operation Overwatch in their efforts, regardless of my affiliations, which I bear no shame in having had."

He cocks his head to the side. "You think I'm ' _inconsequential'_ , do ya?"

* * *

"In the grand scheme of things, yes."

"Which means, you still think of me."

* * *

She looks out the large window that expands across the full right wall of her room, staring at the lights speckled across the Watchpoint, dimming in and out. The last ending rays of the previous day have long drifted away and it's not quite night, but it's not late enough to be considered morning.

Or perhaps it's too early.

It's as paradoxical as the fact that she can still feel him in-between her legs, and yet his head is behind hers, as his arms are wrapped around her waist, snoring lightly. If this keeps occurring, it would serve her well to invest in some type of medication for his sinuses. Or earplugs, which would be practical in other arenas.

Sanjay would always make it a habit of pointing out her idiosyncrasies. And her anorgasmic condition that, for some reason, doesn't seem to apply when she's with Jamison.

It's fascinating to say the least. She thinks there was one time where she _may've_ climaxed with Sanjay, but it _could've_ been indigestion. _If only you could be as passionate here as you are with your work_ , he would say, almost pityingly. Hazy bliss and warm comfort were concepts that were, unfortunately, lost on her. It always felt more clinical than anything else. Like another step that was needed to be completed in a grander design rather than something done for recreation.

"Oi," she hears from behind her, laced with sleep.

"Hmm?"

"You woke me up."

" _How_?" The architect asks with furrowed brow. She hadn't even moved, though she had been heavily considering that it was time to.

"Thinkin' too loud," the junker grumbles, and she laughs. She seems to do a lot of that in his presence of late, too. Was he always this funny, or did she just become more accustomed to his sense of humor due to the close proximity?

"It cannot be helped, I'm afraid," she murmurs when the laughter finally subsides. His hand falls from the inward curve of her belly to the juncture in-between her thighs, still moist and sensitive from the last time they were there. " _Jamie_ ," she says, and it's weak and it's supposed to be a warning, but comes out more like an invitation.

"You sayin' it can't be helped, let me help you, love."

Assisted with the moisture, his digit slides in and twists, creating the most gorgeous friction against her sensitive little nub. She reaches her hand down atop of his, guiding his movements, and there's no intelligible thought, just sensory output overpowering her higher mental functions. He does this… _thing_ where he'll shift from even pumps to twists to flipping her labia back and forth with his thumb and forefinger as if he were flipping a page and it's both maddening and exquisite at the same time.

She grinds herself back into him, bucking into his hand, and she feels him hot and heavy against her ass. Baser instincts would have her turn to face him, straddle his lithe waist, descend upon him…

Her sense of purpose ultimately wins out, and as she rides out the last wave, crooning to the air above, she grips his wrist tighter.

"Feel better?"

The former Vishkar employee nods. "Exponentially."

"Aces," Jamison removes his hand from inside her slowly. "Uh, love?"

"Yes?"

"Got me hand," he says, teetering between a laugh and a sigh.

Satya lets go as if scorched and resumes breathing. Since when was she so damn dependent? "You're a distraction," she accuses.

"A good one, I hope."

 _Too good_ , goes unsaid. Instead, she whips the sheets from herself, brown skin coated with a light sheen of sweat as the cold air hits it. From her nightstand is her hairtie and she grabs it, sweeping into a hasty bun and it's messy and disheveled, certainly not good enough to walk through Vishkar's pristine halls, but enough to regain focus. She stands from the bed and walks to her closet, trying to tamper down the blush on her face when she hears a wolf whistle from the bed. She's never felt more thankful for the shade of night.

In preparation, she'd kept a spare uniform in case of unforeseeable instances.

Certainly having two orgasms prior to a mission counted as such an instance.

She pulls it from the closet on the hanger and lays it carefully by the foot of the bed. Heads over to her dresser and pulls out matching undergarments, garnering a cheeky " _now_ that's _a nice outfit_ ," from the bed as well.

She whips around, hands on ample hips with her head tilted to one side. "Jamison?"

"Yes ma'am?" He asks enthusiastically. She tries to ignore the fact that she could see his toothy grin in the dark.

"Shut it."

She begins the process of dressing, first with her panties and then her bra, and though she avoids eye contact, she can feel his eyes on her all the same. She gathers her slacks, slipping them on past her thighs and zipping them up to her waist, buttoning her blazer, and…her gauntlet.

Where was her gauntlet? The workshop?

"Lookin' for this?" Jamison says gleefully from the bed, holding up the sleek white and chrome metal attachment.

She walks over, reaches out for it, and he holds it away. Satya sighs, crossing her arms. "What do you want, Jamie?"

"Nothin', but one thing, jus' a trifle really," the Aussie shrugs. "Just promise me somethin'."

"What's that?"

"You ain't becomin' one of them suits again," he says, and there's no glee that she could detect from the statement. "You know better and you _are_ better and I ain't losin' you to some damn crazy company halfway cross the rocks."

She regards him coolly. "I am who I am, Jamison. Not a suit, not a pawn, but a creator. I bear no regrets with my time spent there, but I will say that Vishkar is _not_ what they said they were." She believes that she had been overly optimistic about the situation before, but the illusion was shattered, her mind made up.

Jamison twists his mouth into a wry grin. "Could come wit' you, blow things up real quiet-like."

"You're as quiet as a stampede in the Savannah." Satya crosses her arms.

Sneaking his arm around her waist, he pulls her into the bed on top of the covers, lowers himself really close to her face. "Say tha' again."

"You're as quiet as-" but that's all she gets to say as laughter bubbles from her lips, his fingers tickling her most sensitive spots. "Jamison, _stop_!"

But he doesn't. And neither does she.

* * *

DAC


	3. Chapter 3

A yellow manilla folder is laid down with ease atop the mahogany desk, and curious eyes land upon it, this seemingly benign item outlining her life, her keen sense of structure, and her upbringings. The man behind the desk is dark skinned and lean, yet imposing; calm, but intimidating. But then he smiles and while it doesn't quite reach his eyes it's approving, a nod in the affirmative.

"Well, the girl is a fine candidate, no question about that. And she came from the Ganges?"

"Yes, sir," Young Satya Vaswani hears from behind her left shoulder. "Her father is recently deceased, mother died in childbirth."

The man in front of her holds his hand up. "I'm well aware of the details concerning her. What I'm unaware of is how she obtained a Class S Vishkar gauntlet, and even more, how she was able to operate it."

"Quite the anomaly," the advisor beside him mutters. "And without an internal fixation, no less."

"…We're still unsure as to the details of that. Although it appears as if she was in the wrong place, at the wrong time."

"Or perhaps, the right time, in her instance," the man in front of her murmurs pensively. "No other family?"

"None. And the only reason we know her name is because that was what she was called locally. The girl doesn't seem to speak. Seems to be some sort of savant." Satya looks up above her shoulder to the woman speaking at the mention of the word. Her words are crisp and clear. Her attire, white, nothing like she had seen before. Her blonde hair is done in a sophisticated bun, an amber visor over her face. Satya had never seen such golden tresses before. The woman looks down at her, but Satya doesn't turn away.

"Very well." The man in front of her stands. "Then I suppose there's only one thing left to do." He walks away from his desk and stands in front of young Satya, getting down on one knee to be eye level. He holds up his left hand, chrome attribute shining in the light. "You liked wielding this, didn't you?"

Young Satya nods eagerly, hair disheveled, eyes wide and transfixed on the gauntlet. Light reflects off of it and then he connects his index finger and thumb and draws them away from each other, a string of light produced from the action. He pinches his fingers together and draws _that_ away, creating a web of light within his palm. He takes both hands this time and pinches them together, _twists_ , and when he expands his arms, her world is full of light, warm and beautiful and benign. Blue reflects off her irises as the light materializes, becomes tangible with the shift to the physical realm. She touches it, noting with interest that she could _see_ it there, and then in the next moment could actually _feel_ it.

The soft light becomes hard and metallic, as chrome-like as his gauntlet, and soon she can't see him through the veil of light. A sheet of metal lies between him and her and she presses her entire palm against it.

The man moves the sheet of metal from between them, and stands it up against his desk.

"This is what we do here, Satya. We bring things from light in being, in hope of creating a better world, so that in turn we may be a better society. My question to you, Satya, is would you like to build a better world?"

The young Vaswani nods.

From the doorway, a young boy, seemingly no older than her, knocks. "Father, I need help with Gaudi's arch, the light won't bend to accommodate."

The man in front of her smiles, beckons the boy over his hand. "Come, I'll show you." The boy walks over in pressed, clean clothing, and both he and Satya watch as the man fully extends his gauntlet laden hand and pinches his other fingers together, turning his hand at a counterclockwise angle and lifting it upward, creating an arch of light from within the palm of his hand, both stylistic and effortless all at once.

"You mustn't be afraid to try new techniques, son. This is a large part in what it takes to be a creator, and not just a builder." With a flick of his wrist, the arch vanishes from sight. "In the meantime," he pauses to look at Satya. "I would like you to meet Satya. Satya, this is my son, Sanjay."

The boy surveys her carefully as he stands in all white and Satya can feel every smudge of dirt resting on her skin. Self-consciously, she wipes at her cheeks. Sanjay smiles at her, extends his hand.

Hesitantly, she reaches her hand out, cautious to not touch his clothes. She looks up at him from under her lashes, and smiles back.

* * *

Satya doesn't want to let his hand go, doesn't want to disentangle herself from his embrace, but then there's a distinct cough, and she leans her forehead away from Jamison's.

"Yeah, so, you know it's time to get this party goin', right? We can't wait anymore."

She knows he's right, and she's loath to admit it even to herself, but, "Haste is not going to make this endeavor proceed any faster. And while I have agreed to work alongside you, don't forget who here has the information needed to succeed."

"And let's not forget who's in the wrong here," Lucío spits vehemently, as strong willed as ever even dressed in delicate white. "Your people are the ones going through the favelas, oppressing _my_ people, and getting away with murder."

You forgettin' one thing, mate," Jamison says with a purse of his lips, tongue sweeping over the rim of his teeth. "She ain't people. She's but one person. And she's the one person here who's tryna do the right thing even though that goes away from everything she knows." Satya looks at Jamison, but his neck is craned to look at the Brazilian disk jockey. "Next time you talk to her, you show her respect, yeah?"

The activist sucks in his teeth, scoffs, but doesn't say anything more than that.

Satya hooks her index finger and her thumb under the junker's jaw, turns him to face her. "You needn't defend me in this."

With eyes still burning bright even in the dimness of early morning, he grabs her hand, smooths out the skin across her knuckles. "Who needs it, love? You don't."

Satya sighs. "I'm afraid he's not exactly incorrect. Damage has been done in the name of betterment and I can't ignore that anymore. And also…I may not come back from this, so perhaps, _this_ …." She stresses, looking meaningfully at him, "should come to an end naturally and before anyone gets further invested."

Jamison laughs, but there's no mirth, no humor. "Ah, so there it is. Love 'em and leave 'em, right? Right. No, you're ready to tank it, and I'm ready to live for as long as possible, so yea', that makes sense."

"I'm not planning to die," the architect shakes her head.

"Then I'm not ready to end this, how about tha', huh?" He cranes his head, touching his forehead against hers again. She bites her lower lip, and his arms wrap around her waist. "I'm thinkin' you're not ready to, either, love."

She turns her head away, a mixture of the reality of the situation and the fact that Lucío is in close vicinity washing over her at once. She cannot afford to be anything less than focused right now, and her feelings for Jamison, whatever they may be, are an expensive luxury. Her face hardens and sets into a cool mask. "We can discuss this in length when we return."

Jamison kisses her forehead, smirks. "Liar."

* * *

Notes: Apologies to the reviewer who read this due to the mislabel. The rating has now been changed to **M**.

Also, thank you to all of the comments, favs, and alerts; I'm just crap at updates, forgive me.

DAC


	4. Chapter 4

" _Don't_ touch me," Satya says fiercely, shrugging her arm away from him. "You _lied_ to me."

"I protected you," Sanjay says in hushed tones.

" _Protected_ me?" Satya says in a huff. " _I_ was in need of protection? What of the favela? Was that a lie, too? To protect me?" Her head is spinning and there doesn't seem to be an end in sight. She needs to sit down, needs to stop the palpitation in her heartbeat. Needs to leave. "Gods…what have I done?"

"You're championing the new path to a much grander society, Satya," Sanjay tries reaching out to her again, fails when she turns her head away, covering her mouth.

"Through what means, Sanjay? At what _cost_?" Satya finds it hard to swallow past the lump in her throat. "'Symmetra' was supposed to be Vishkar's hero, and now…"

"She still is!"

"…she's a murderer." Younger Satya curls in on herself, manicured nails clean and pristinely cut, pressing into the palms of her hands, nailbed growing angry and bloody red. She's sick with grief and sick of repeating the same mantra and sick of the ongoing loop in her mind's eye. It's both deeply affecting, and She had only ever set her photon projector to _energy drain_ , but the image of hard light spindling in air, slicing through the bodies of deviants to the plan, horror shining in the irises as their bodies were chipped away, blood replacing air and skin, insides exposed to light and scorched, screams replacing the ringing in her ears.

She hunches over the bridge and heaves as vomit is expelled from her body.

She'd never been particularly squeamish; she had witnessed people expire in front of her growing up in by the Musi River, her own father, but never by hard light, never by her hand.

Until now.

She feels her hair being pulled away from her face, a warm hand at the low of her back, and she doesn't back away from him, keeps her eyes clenched shut. "How long has it been like this?"

Sanjay shakes his head, "The world has been in disorder for over a millennia."

"No, that's not what I meant." She takes a shuddering breath, opens red-rimmed eyes. "This is _not_ what was supposed to happen. We were supposed to be making the world a better place, not terminating those in our way like parasites." The little girl in Rio, her face covered in red and scarred permanently still haunts her in the darkest black of night.

" _They_ were going to kill _us_ , Satya. This… _rebellion_ , is going to destroy everything we've ever built, everything we've ever dreamed of creating, and for what? _Freedom_?" He holds her face between his hands, warm and comforting, wiping away tear stained cheeks. "They don't know what freedom is, how it feels to be able to sculpt society with our designs. _You_ do. They don't know how hard and tirelessly _we_ work to provide _them_ with better lives, you do. And this disillusionment they're under is tearing us apart at the seams. In this case, terminations were a necessity because they were going to kill my father, kill me, Satya. You saved us. You _are_ Vishkar's heroine. _My_ heroine."

He kisses her, and she's drowning, unable to breathe under his touch.

* * *

Lúcio stands behind her as she positions her arms upward, fingers pinched in, and releases with a flourish, a hard light base materializing over a concussion mine and pieced into reality, a soft translucent oval projected over it.

Satya looks over her shoulder. "It's going to be imperative that you follow my lead and not speak unless directed to once we reach the other side. Assimilation is the key to our success, and at that point, you and I are no longer tentative teammates, but support to one another. The slightest instance of anything other than solidarity will inevitably lead to our execution, and our family would soon fall thereafter."

The Brazilian sucks in his teeth. She's expecting him to brazenly oppose her statement, or some snarky anecdote about how he doesn't need her to tell him how to act, but he surprises her. "Family, huh?" He says with a smirk.

She pauses, the one part of her statement she wasn't expecting him to latch on to. "Yes."

He goes to stand beside her. "I'm down with that."

"And…your speech. Slang will not be tolerated."

Lúcio stands at full height, chest puffed outward with his hands crossed behind his back and chin tilted upward. "I am more than capable in accommodating your request, Miss Vaswani. And I will be more than happy to assist in expediting this process to ensure the safety of our associates."

At her expression of bewilderment, Hana giggles from atop the perch yards behind, Jamison outright guffawing over the exchange.

Still standing prim and proper, Lúcio grins, "How's that?"

"Sufficient enough, for a street ruffian, that is." Satya says placidly, but her lips curve upward. "Shall we go?"

"Ladies first, wouldn't want to end up off a cliff or something." Lúcio shrugs.

The architect pauses, looks over her shoulder past the curl of her bang. "One moment." Her steps echo in the small enclave and she's soon standing in front of the junker, the very picture of simplistic elegance and professionalism. The stark contrast between her, and the roguish anarchist with frayed split ends and gold canines glinting in the early morning light is drastic, unsettling even. She reaches out and slips her hand in his much larger one, not quite looking him in the eye.

Swiftly, he wraps an arm around her waist and bends his knee to dip her, using the hand she extended to him to anchor her around his neck.

He kisses her, and she doesn't feel the ground beneath her, soaring under his touch. "* _Poi varungal_ ," she murmurs amorously against his lips in her native tongue, knowing he won't understand.

When he orients them both upward with a slight wobble on his peg, Satya belatedly realizes that the e-sport gamer still present outright swoons over the exchange, and she doesn't dare look behind her at her mission partner. She smooths her bang back into place and he looks at her cheekily, "A poi-how-do-you-do-to-you too, love."

It's foolish and impetuous, unlike her, but she still smiles despite herself as she walks away and into warm blue light.

When she gets to the other side, it's the middle of the day, and the unforgiving sun shines down the back of her neck, even from the alleyway.

Lúcio joins her side a moment later and the pathway is gone, Jamison's bomb having destroyed the original portal.

No turning back.

"So, what'd you say to him back there? Was a heck of a goodbye."

"My interactions with Jamison are irrelevant in completing our objective, and are not to be broached on past this point. We are on a mission, and we are here to complete it, is that clear?" She sets off to step out of the alley, not bothering to wait for his reply, and peeks out past the corner, close the walled brick.

Vishkar's new city center stands tall and proud in the heart of the many barrios of Dorado. Seeing the familiar structure makes her feel a pang of homesickness, but she buries that away along with the other mementos in her mind.

"…you know, for someone who says we're supposed to be partners, you're really getting off to a really bad start."

Satya looks at him from the corner of her eye, and even she thinks he could pass for Vishkar with his hair being cut close to the scalp the way it is. Certainly much more manageable and appealing than those dreds he had before. "I…will be a better partner from now forward. We should acquire some form of transport to get to the city center," She says, eyes focused out on the dirt roads outside the alley. The stench of pollution and acrid copper fill her nostrils and she scrunches up her nose in distaste.

"You look _so_ excited to be here," Lúcio shakes his head.

 _I assure you there are other places I would rather be_ , she thinks, but chooses not to say out loud.

The Brazilian heads out of the alley, displaying the first useful aspect of his skillset by hailing down a cab in Spanish. It appeared that his disk jockey career had led to him knowing at most versions of Latin, Castiano, and his native Portuguese.

She sits next to him, uncomfortable and hunched in, trying to avoid touching anything for as long as possible. Somehow, even though the ride has a great deal of turbulence, it goes by far faster than it should have, with even the driver looking shocked as Lúcio slips him the fare.

Satya stays seated, looking at her partner expectantly.

"Qué?"

"Please open the door," she says, shifting her knees closer together. She should've made the portal at the Vishkar city center entrance, but considering her position, this was the most inconspicuous option.

"You've got two hands," The Brazilian says, reverting to English.

" _Please_ open my door," she says again, and this time he must see the stress reflecting on her face because instead of insisting she do it herself, he bounds across to the other end and opens the door and she quickly vacates the vehicle. She's sure the driver must've said some form of a goodbye, but she holds her arms together; it was all too reminiscent of home, of past events, and this feeling is too much of an unexpected variable.

She takes a breath, and in a flash, she's collected, looking up at the chrome and glass structure before her.

"You ok?" Lúcio asks.

Instead of answering, she asks a question of her own. "You used your speed boost on the vehicle," she states, not looking at him. "Why?"

"You mad about that?"

She should be. A move like that could be noticed by the wrong individuals, jeopardize their entire purpose for being there. "No," she says instead, the cycle ending with her. "Thank you." She continues up the steps, not waiting for his response and meets him at the hand scanner, producing a small stream of light extending from her thumb to her index finger, and then pinching her fingers together and extending them apart, a web of light in her hands as she presses it against the hand scanner. With the encryption recognized, the scanner glows a placating blue, and the glass doors in front spread apart.

 _Home_ , she immediately says in her mind as the wide expanse of hallway is revealed, polished tile reflecting glares of light from the Dorado sun.

Due to how the facilities were constructed, there was no need for security at the front door. She takes her first step in, heel clattering on the floor below, and knows that they're already aware of her presence. Even with Lúcio at her side, they still let her enter and get to the elevator at the end of the large expanse without anyone coming to meet them.

 _They still trust me._

They enter into the elevator and she taps on the button that says _56_ as the doors close softly.

"This place has like 70 floors," Lúcio says. "Why that one?"

"Because that is where the Director is," She says, and looks at him pointedly. He notices her stare, and her eyes _flicker_ upward at the top right hand corner of the elevator, and then back at his eyes. Whatever other questions he may've had are silenced in a quiet understanding.

Despite the high altitude, the ride goes quickly – Satya used to the change of pressure, but even Lúcio seems alarmed at how abrupt the ascension is. The doors on the opposite side from where they entered open and the Brazilian turns around to follow her lead. When they step out, the hallway is significantly shorter in length, but the expanse is wider, light shining in from the windows. As they approach, the young girl at the receptionist desk dressed in an ivory jumpsuit, likely a Mexican native, smiles at them politely. "Hello, thank you for visiting Vishkar Industries; do you have an appointment with the Director today?"

The girl is rather young, so it is only right that Satya forgives her for not knowing who she is. "S. Vaswani," she states curtly, and the girl types the name into the directory, looking back and forth between her and the screen.

"Symmetra – _the_ _Symmetra_? * _Lo siento_ , please forgive me," the girl says, suddenly flustered. She rises from her seat and heads around the desk. "Please come with me," she says and leads them to the door at the end. She opens it for Satya and Lúcio to step in the office.

The man behind the desk looks up, smiles. His chestnut brown hair seems to have a touch of gray now, but his face is still as young and handsome as she remembers. "Satya," the man says warmly and rises from his seat. He embraces her upon standing in front of her, and she forces her eyes away from the portrait of his father, dark skinned like her, on his wall.

They part, and he continues. "You're looking well. And I see you've brought a visitor," He says, taking the time to survey Lúcio. Still keeping one arm around her waist, he extends his hand out to the Brazilian. "Sanjay," he introduces himself. "And you are?"

"'Juan'," Lúcio says easily, meeting him halfway in a handshake.

"He's a possible candidate for our international relations program," Satya relays. "I would like for him to be considered, he would make a great addition."

Sanjay looks at her, "Such high praise." He looks back at Lúcio. "You must've really done something special. She's not so easily impressed."

Satya avoids Lúcio's gaze, choosing to then look at Sanjay. "If possible, perhaps we can discuss this later. We've had a long flight and I would like to show Juan around campus."

"No need," Sanjay says, and presses a button on his desk.

In a flash, the young girl from the lobby enters the office. "Yes?"

"Maria, can you please escort Juan around campus, and show him to his room so that he may rest?"

"Of course," she says with a light accent, looking at Lúcio with a smile. "Please come with me."

"Yeah, no doubt," Lúcio grins, taking the girl's lead, and Satya forces herself not to react to the slip.

The doors close, and she sees it coming, but it still feels like betrayal when she's pushed up against the desk, wraps her arms around Sanjay's neck, leans her head back to allow him more access to her skin. Systematically, she pushes her fingers through his hair and gasps appropriately when his tongue salves up the column of her neck.

 _It's just another mission_ , thinking to herself, but groaning out loud when his fingers expertly slip inside her blazer, thumb brushing over the lace atop her nipple.

 _It's just another mission._

* * *

I've been spelling Lúcio's name wrong. Darn. I can't bring myself to beta any more than I have (which is already minimal, but whatevs).

* _Poi varungal =_ I'll go and come back.

*Lo siento = I'm sorry

Also, a little upset that _Dorado_ is in Mexico in game canon and not the rightful Columbia. Still waiting on my Vishkar Industries map like yesterday (though _Estádio das Rãs_ is freaking _gorgeous_ – like I shouldn't like it 'cause it's all Vishkar, but _damn_ ).

Also, ups to the peeps on tumblr who've been reccing this story (gee, I guess I need to update more). This is like that guilty pleasure story that people will glance over and close out of when they notice someone looking. I'm cool with that. Guest reviews or not, they're still appreciated.

DAC


End file.
